


One Kiss was All I Needed

by Father_Dusk



Category: Dungeon Moment Expanded Universe
Genre: F/M, Goodbye, Stargazing, dead, they kithed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Father_Dusk/pseuds/Father_Dusk
Summary: A goodbye, maybe. Hopefully not.
Relationships: Houriel
Kudos: 3





	One Kiss was All I Needed

Hourai,

Well, it looks like I’ve gone and died. You might find another version of this letter, and another, and another. I don’t know why, but I write one every night, just in case I die the next day, so you’ve got some sort of goodbye from me, some sort of closure. I don’t know, I think I’d want something if you died, some tangible  _ proof _ that I had enough of an impact in your life enough for you to think I’m worth saying goodbye to. 

It’s selfish, but maybe I’m selfish. Selfish for wanting you, selfish for keeping you close to me when that might not be what you want. But you said you’d stay with me, and I want so badly to believe that you mean that that I’m going to. I’m going to trust you, Hourai, because if I can’t trust you then can I trust anything?

I’m rambling again, aren’t I? I do that. You seem to spend your time thinking, speaking only once you’ve decided on the best thing to say. I guess we differ, in that aspect. I talk and talk and talk, and only when I close my mouth do I consider what the things I say may sound like. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent my whole life quiet. Maybe I need to just say what I think, just to hear something out loud. After so many years of silence, I find myself calmer when there’s a little bit of sound.

I don’t like the sound of my voice though, yours is much nicer. Maybe that’s why I ask you so many questions, just to savor it. To savor your voice.

If this is my last letter, that means last night was our last. Do you remember it? We looked at the stars. You told me about the eight schools of magic in Bontu. I remember every word, do you? I talked to you about the one thing I knew of the night sky, the Mother. Do you remember that? 

Well, I guess if this is the last one, then you probably do remember. Remember how we stargazed. How we kissed, with only the moon and the stars as witness to it. But I didn’t want anything else, didn’t want anyone else to see it. It wasn’t for anyone else. It was just for you, and for me, and the stars. 

If this isn’t the last letter, maybe we’ve kissed again. Maybe I’ve told you already that your lips tasted like pumpkins and lavender and the ocean. I’ve never seen the ocean. Will you take me there, one day? If this isn’t the last letter? I hope it isn't. Every day, I hope I’ll be alive to write you another one. But you can’t be too careful, so here I sit, scribbling away while you sleep. Maybe if I write you this letter it won’t hurt when I die. You’ll have something to read.

I’m being selfish again, thinking you’ll be sad if I die just because you kissed me underneath the starlight. It’s selfish of me, to ask you to mourn me. I ask too much of you, when I write to you about these things. A small part of me hopes, if I die, you won’t find these letters. I write them to you, but a part of me never wants you to see them. They’re for you, yes, but maybe you’d be better off without them.

I don’t know. I don’t know, I guess I just think about how I’d feel if you died tomorrow, and I sit here and I think about what I would want from you, and I know it’s selfish and that I’m selfish but in that moment I don’t care because you promised, oh you promised you would stay and I would be so angry if you left me because I trusted you to keep your word but if you die then what’s the point in trusting anything anymore?

I doubt you feel like this towards me, and it’s stupid and selfish of me to find solace in your arms. I’ve given you a bit of responsibility over my happiness, and it’s selfish of me to expect you to want that, to care about me, to want to keep me safe and happy. You don’t know it, I’ve never told you and I don’t know if I ever can or ever will, but you make me feel safe. You make me happy.

And maybe it’s too forward of me, to say these things to you after a single kiss, a single embrace under the moonlight. Maybe it is, but after everything that’s happened in the past five days, which is honestly more than what’s ever happened to me in my entire life, I guess I can’t help but be a little forward, at least with you.

No one’s ever talked to me as much as you have, spent so much time with me. I don’t mean to give you a sob story, but you deserve some sort of explanation of the way I am, the reason I’m so selfish. But I don’t want you to feel bad for me. I had a happy childhood, a happy life. A happy home. I was always happy. It was just a little quiet. We didn’t speak much, or they didn’t speak to me much. I don’t know if they talked to each other, my family, but they didn’t talk to me. 

I’m okay with that, really. I was happy there. It was a happy place. Home was happy. Don’t feel bad for me, that’s not the point here. I don’t want you to feel bad, I just want you to know.

Maybe I’m writing this letter just so someone can listen to me. I used to write in a journal, you know? I got it when I was eight years old, and I wrote it in sometimes. I don’t have it anymore, I left it at home, but this can serve as my new journal. Hopefully you’ll never read it. Or maybe you will, I don’t know. You can never be too careful, not when goodbyes are involved.

I’m rambling again, aren’t I? Why didn’t you stop me? Haha, I’m kidding. You don’t know I’m writing this, or that I’ve written this same letter out last night. I wouldn’t read last night’s letter. I was smashed last night, it was kind of pathetic. 

It’s therapeutic, in a way, writing to you like this. It’s like some sort of trial run for saying goodbye, if I have a chance to when I die. Firgo didn’t get that chance. Did you hear his last words? I was half asleep, but I heard them. He said, “Sorry for disappointing you all. Goodbye, friends,” 

And then he exploded into a fiery burst of light, and he was gone.

I didn’t tell you about it, but when I went back in there, I saw his ashes. They were stuck to the floor, to the walls. Only his flute and his book were still there. I don’t know how they survived. Maybe it was the world's last cruel trick to play on him, to say “your friends get something to remember you by, but it’s the one thing you cherished and the thing that destroyed you, in the end”. 

I don’t know what will be left, when I die. Maybe these letters, maybe nothing at all. But I think I know what I’d say, if I got to say one last thing to you when I died. If I’m dead, you know what it was. If I’m not, I guess you’ll have to wait to find out. I hope you have to wait for a long, long time. I don’t want to die, not yet.

I don’t want to die, but I think if I had to I could. I’ve yet to fix myself in my family’s eyes, but maybe I’m good enough in yours. Maybe that can be enough for me, being good enough for you. Am I good enough for you? I try to be. I try to be worth kissing again.

But if I’m not, if I never can be, then I guess one kiss was all I needed. One moment of proof that, even if it only lasted for a second, I was someone worth kissing. Someone worth holding onto.

Thank you, for that, if nothing else.

-Fauriel


End file.
